No Promises To Keep
by sjr
Summary: For Kurt, to cut is to control his emotions, and to control his emotions is to live.


Title: No Promises To Keep  
Beta: None  
Rating: Teen  
Disclaimer: I bought a few songs from Glee on ITunes; does that count?  
Warnings: Angst, cutting, implied sex  
Spoilers: Up to 'Theatrically' to be safe  
Word Count: 2,316  
Pairing: Jesse/Kurt  
Summary: For Kurt, to cut is to control his emotions, and to control his emotions is to live.  
A/N1: Based on a prompt by Telm for the glee_angst_meme: 'Kurt has such impeccable control over his feelings because he cuts (mostly on his upper arms to keep it all well-hidden) to internalize things. Somebody (one of the glee kids) discovers this.'  
A/N2: Title from 'Feelin' Groovy' by Simon and Garfunkel. Fuck, I took one of the most cheerful songs in existance, and attached it is this angstfest. What the hell is wrong with me?

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No Promises To Keep

Sometimes, just for something different, Kurt cuts on the inside of his arms, or maybe on his thighs. But mostly he cuts on his upper arms; more difficult to see, easier to hide, to heal.

It's rather risky, cutting on the inside of his arms, and he hasn't dared to do so since the joined the Cheerios, but whenever he did, it gave him a tiny little thrill, the risk of being caught. Once he pondered if, subconsciously, that's exactly why he did so; scars just screaming out _I am fucked up_. But of course, no one ever saw them. Ignorant. Oblivious.

It must be so blissful to be so blind.

When he was on the football team, the reason why he was always so edgy about changing with them was not about any embarrassment or fear for his safety; all his emotions were safely tucked away, thanks to the cutting, but because even though the entire football team were no smarter than Brittany combined, if one person, just for a second, saw any of his scars, and considered his suspicious behaviour, they might just figure it out. Or mention it to the Coach or one of the teachers; "that gay Hummel kid sure acts funny- all kinds of weird ass scars and marks on his arms and legs, won't ever change with us" and then his life would be over.

Oh, Kurt is well aware of how melodramatic that sounds, but he honestly believes that if he ever were to stop cutting, he would lose all control. All control over his every emotion, gone. He can never let that happen. Kurt without cutting is a pathetic, snivelling, cowardly mess. He feels every little niggle of doubt, every twinge of hurt, everything raw and harsh and ugly. It only took him a fairly short amount of time to build up this cold mask, this Ice Prince persona, and now he lives up to it. He can never be free, because to be free would be to lose control, and to lose control would be not to cut, and not to cut would ruin everything.

What not many people realise is that Kurt has a very, very good memory- he's been remembering things in great detail ever since he was a young child. That means that he can easily recall any happy memory of his choosing, in picture perfect detail; his mother, laughing and smiling, carefree and beautiful; his father, proud and strong and truly amazing; Mercedes, awesome and loving and supporting. It is much easier to recall the bad memories; the first time he was called a 'fag', by an adult at his mother's funeral; the first time he was thrown in a dumpster; his father's face after that dreadful phone call; the look on his best friend's face as he broke her heart. He is burdened by this pain, and to cut himself is to internalise it, to keep everything in control.

The actual process of cutting is fairly addictive and somewhat stimulating. Kurt is not particularly squeamish about blood, but neither is he particularly fond of it. The smell makes him sick, and the absolute mess it can cause is something he utterly detests, but the feel of it flowing free, flowing away from him, carrying all those bad memories away, is something that sets his teeth on edge in a wave of absolute euphoria.

He is surprised by the pain, every time. You would think he'd be used to it after years of cutting himself up to four times a week but nope, it gets him every time. It's like a funny line that way. Kurt normally has an almost insanely high pain threshold, a tolerance developed over the years, and actually enjoys the little sting he feels each and every time. It reminds him he is still alive, that he can still feel.

He never cuts deeply, only shallowly, and the scars actually aren't that noticeable after a few weeks of healing; they dot his skin as frequently as freckles do, light and scattered, a tapestry of truth in the lines. He has no intention to kill himself. As long as Kurt is in control of his emotions, he enjoys life. He always feels much calmer and relieved of his emotions after cutting; this is his lovely little coping mechanism, and it works. He can always be the perfect little Ice Prince he wants to be. All the noise, all the whispers in his head, they are always silent afterwards.

He never cuts at school, only ever at home, and never when anyone else was in the house. It's gotten harder since Carole and Finn moved in, but Kurt has learned how to hide it well, these ugly little reminders of how worthless he is. Finn never seems to notice that it's Kurt that always changes in the bathroom, and not the other way around. Needless to say, Kurt has rid himself of his crush, purged away the unwanted emotions. He won't be weak in front of anyone anymore. He is in control once more.

He never cuts at school, but today, against his better judgement, he does. He hasn't cut in _weeks_. One reason is that Coach Sylvester has had them practicing even more and harder for Nationals, and believe it or not, Cheerios are marginally more perceptive than football jocks are, and he's had to be extra, extra careful not to let them see his upper arms, and he can't cut because for some of their performances, they do some rather complex moves, and he has been groped in all manner of places over the past few days by people he would rather not touch him. Another reasons are the costumes in Glee- they're getting more and more elaborate, more and more out there, and he can't draw attention to himself, can't think of a good reason not to wear them other than their impracticality and the risk, oh, the dire risk.

So he hasn't cut in weeks, not even a tiny little one at home he could easily hide or explain away, partly because Finn seems to have taken to fussing over him quite a lot nowadays, keen to start bonding as brothers, and partly because one tiny little cut just won't do. No, as the time gets longer and longer, the need builds and builds. His control is slipping. Yesterday he snapped at Tina, and almost threw a tantrum the other day over something his father did. He needs his control, he hungers for it. He can almost feel how his blood flows, itches, yearning to get away from him, to get out.

He can't take it, everything building up, breaking apart, his control slipping. So after Cheerios practice, he lingers in the locker room. He sits down and waits. Waits until over an hour after school ended passes, waits until no one, aside from a handful of teachers or students, is still at school. He's all alone in the empty locker room, and now it is time. Time to regain his control.

He has all that he needs in his bag; a razor blade, gauze, antibacterial wipes, bandages, an excuse. He's been carrying it all around with him for the past few days, ready to do this whenever he got the chance. And this is his chance. Back in his normal clothes, a long sleeved dark shirt and jeans, he is ready to cover it all up once he's done, this guilty little secret, awful indulgence, hidden away.

He stays on the bench, a towel on his lap to collect any blood that escapes, and rolls back his left sleeve, blade poised in his right hand, prepared to cut. He slowly drags it across his skin, shivering in anticipation, but wastes no time with any foreplay; a moment to prepare himself, to embrace the urge bubbling away, and he cuts, four inches down from his wrist, a shallow horizontal line, red and bleeding and wonderful. He gasps at he pain, feels the hot tears gather in his eyes, and this is fucking perfect. He watches his blood run away, feels all the bad emotions escaping his body, feels his control return. He raises his razor to slice again; one more cut ought to do it. He would have cut on his upper arms to hide it better, but that wouldn't have done it; oh no, it needs to be on his inner arm, needs to be where he can see it, where he can worship it. He hesitates a moment as he presses the blade just above the first cut, hearing something from far away, but the blood is pounding in his ears, rushing, screaming, and all other noise is just vague and unimportant.

He presses down the blade once again, drawing it over his skin, letting the blood well up and shudder away, when a hand covers his, halfway across his forearm. He feels a small pang of annoyance, then a wave of realisation, of fear; he has been caught. Someone has discovered him, and they are being very still and very silent. All Kurt can smell is the metallic tang of blood, all he can hear and feel is the pounding of his heart, heavy and anxious and wild, so out of control it isn't even real, and he gulps once as he drags his gaze upwards, staring up at none other than Jesse St. James.

Kurt lets his mouth fall open as he studies the expression on the other boy's face. It is concern and worry and guilt and understanding all rolled into one soft look, gentle and non-threatening, almost handsome even. Despite himself, Kurt feels a sudden attraction, a small longing, but he quickly quashes it. He keeps the hand covering Kurt's hand holding the razor blade, now lifted from the cut slightly, there as he leans down, resting on his haunches, now at Kurt's level. Not saying a word, not even taking his eyes off of him, he picks up a piece of gauze and offers it to him. Grateful and numb, he takes it, slowly setting the blade down, pressing the gauze down on his cut and a half.

"Why?" His tone is coaxing, soothing, encouraging, asking Kurt to trust him, to tell him. "Control." He does, because he has no reason not to; this is it, he has been discovered, his life is over.

"Will you let me help you?" Jesse is pleading, almost begging, needy but still solid, still strong, voice lowered to a whisper, handling Kurt almost like he was a delicate porcelain doll.

"I don't need help." He sneers, look on his face cold and frosty, voice hostile and unyielding. He owes Jesse nothing, and besides, he doesn't understand, not really; he needs control and nothing else. There is plenty wrong with him, but this isn't. This is perfectly normal.

Jesse nods then, like he expected that answer, then purses his lips and furrows his brow, pondering for a moment. It makes him look utterly fucking adorable. If Kurt didn't know any better, he'd almost say that look was for him.

"Well then, if you don't need help, and you just need control, then we'll just have to find some way to distract you, some other way to give you control." Kurt just gapes for a moment, amazed at the fact that Jesses actually does understand, before he is suddenly being kissed, rough and passionate and urgent.

It's his first kiss with a boy, and for a few moments Kurt is too shocked to do anything, before he feels Jesse's tongue probing at his lips, attempting to pry them open and slip inside, before he comes to his senses and takes charge. It's amazing. Not the actual kiss, but his emotions. It feels good, it feels really, really good. He's flying high, higher than he ever did after cutting, higher than he ever went before. He's got his control back.

They only break the kiss when he wants to, and Jesse withdraws, hands gripping his shoulders lightly, looking deep into his eyes. Technically, he is still dating Rachel, and technically Kurt is too weird to date at all, but something about this feels special, feels important.

He helps Kurt to clean up and bandage his cuts, before they are kissing again, and end up exchanging handjobs. Afterwards they sit on the floor, leaning against the bench, dishevelled and reeling from how satiated they feel, floating in a post-coital haze. Then Jesse begins talking. He starts talking about musical theatre, about his parents, about Vocal Adrenaline and Rachel's mom, about everything and nothing, and eventually starts talking about self-harm.

Kurt has absolute no idea how Jesse does this, but by the time he leaves the locker room, Jesse has somehow convinced that that maybe he just might actually need help, that maybe something is wrong with this, and the promise that whenever he gets the urge to cut, at any time of the day or night, that Kurt call him, so that Jesse can help him. Kurt isn't too sure if the method of sex and talking about nothing important whilst subtextually talking about everything important is really the best way to help, but he's sure that if he doesn't let Jesse help him, Jesse will tell someone, Miss Pillsbury or his father, and that everyone will know and will try to help, and Kurt just can't have that. Maybe when he's ready, when he knows that this isn't right, when he really wants to stop this, deep down in his heart, he'll tell them, he'll get better, professional help, but for now, when he needs his control, when he needs to control every little emotion, Jesse will be there.

It certainly isn't how Kurt pictured getting his first boyfriend, but it will do.


End file.
